Four Dresses Lynda Never Bought and One She Did
by unoriginal-elizabeth
Summary: “Colin, if I wrote down the word ‘dress’ on a piece of paper and cut it out, it would cover more than that thing!”


_**1) (It's not like it was in Sherrington. But then again, no one's dead this time)**_

She has things to do. Important things. The newsroom needs to be painted (she should be buying paint right now), and Sarah has resigned (again. But there's a chance she'll go through with it this time), and Kenny's gone into hiding (it's possible his aunt has died for the ninth time this year. And he calls Lynda Vampira).

She has lots of things to do, so really, she shouldn't be standing in front of a mirror with a shop assistant fluttering about behind her.

"It's lovely," the assistant says, straightening the shoulder straps.

It is. It's a deep, rich blue, shiny and silky around the shoulders and bust, with a skirt that swirls out. There's a rhinestone clip at the cleavage, which Spike would appreciate.

"That colour is perfect on you," the assistant says, as she stares into the mirror. She's right, but it doesn't matter, because Lynda isn't looking at the dress any more.

"…a very flattering length," she hears, as she looks into someone else's eyes.

Maybe that girl has a whole wardrobe full of dresses like this one —

"…sort of stretches you, gives the illusion of…"

Maybe she likes shopping, and parties, and maybe she always says the right thing, and maybe she's never met Spike Thomson, and maybe she doesn't even have to ask him to stay.

"…so shall I ring it up for you?" the assistant asks, moving in front of Lynda and smiling. Startled, Lynda looks at her, and when she turns back to the mirror, all it shows is the same Lynda Day in a different dress.

_**2) (Fear and loathing in Colin's office)**_

Colin's office was always littered with interesting, cheap, and more often than not, hazardous knick knacks. Lynda avoided the key rings that, when handled the wrong way, shot a deadly shard of glass from a hole at the bottom of the furry, grinning koala ("Koala Scares! A mugger's worst nightmare!"), the ink pens that refused to write on paper, but left indelible marks upon clothing ("It's the hassle free face of tie dye!"), and the small box of lightbulbs that were, inexplicably, without filaments ("They just sell themselves, don't they?"). After a few seconds' deliberation, she picked up a snow globe resting on the edge of the desk, and shook it. Silver glitter swirled around an inexpertly painted seal balancing a ball on its nose.

"Ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you," Colin warned, as he shut the door behind him. "They're just a little bit unstable, and if it breaks, the acid will dissolve your fingerprints."

The snow globe was carefully replaced.

He brushed past Lynda and sat down on the other side of the desk, skilfully maintaining his balance as the chair wobbled (a slight design flaw that had resulted in three broken legs and had caused the chairs to be quickly remarketed as 'Balancers: the most fun you can have while sitting!').

He gestured to the chair opposite. "So, Lynda. Always a pleasure. And what can I do for you today?"

"Do you have it?" she asked, dropping down onto the seat (after a quick but thorough inspection).

"It?" he asked, miming confusion, as always, beautifully.

"The dress." She stared at him impatiently. "Colin, the meeting is this evening! You promised it would be ready today."

"Yes," he said, drawing the word out. "About that —"

"You don't have it," she finished, crossing her arms.

"I'll have you know I find this lack of faith in me very hurtful, Lynda," Colin said, retrieving a brown paper bag from underneath his desk and putting it down with an air of offended dignity. "After all, I thought we agreed that the birthday surprise was a freak accident, and completely out of my control."

"In case you've forgotten, I was being restrained by a policeman at the time. I couldn't say anything incriminating."

"Poor Frazz, eh?" Colin shook his head. "Do you remember how long it took to get him down?"

Lynda looked at him, unmoved. "Yes. Because I decided that for every minute we lost, I'd—"

"You'd what?" he prompted, as she trailed off.

"Don't worry. You'll know when it happens," she said, with a less than reassuring smile. "Now, the dress, Colin? Although I don't see what the problem is. I've been dressing myself since I was six."

"But…that **is**…the problem."

She extended her hand. Colin appeared not to see this, though the bag was deftly nudged out of reach.

"About the meeting…Lynda, I've been thinking. I'd like to handle this one solo, if I may."

"Colin, do you remember what happened last time you handled a meeting on your own?" she asked.

"I remember striking a very lucrative deal," he said, leaning back in the chair, only to straighten hurriedly as it began to tilt.

"That's funny — I remember testifying," Lynda said pointedly. "So if you think I'm going to let you sell advertising space to your friends—"

"Associates!" he interrupted. "Associates! Distant associates about whom I could provide no detailed financial records, should anyone ever ask."

She shook her head. "Listen to me carefully, Colin. I am coming with you to this meeting to make sure that everything goes according to plan, and you don't end up doing anything stupid, like selling Tiddler. Again."

"Say what you want, but those people treated her like the son they never had."

"Pick me up at seven, and we'll go together," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. She stood up and held out her hand. After a moment's pause, Colin walked around from behind the desk and shook it.

"Well, Lynda, it's been great."

He walked her towards the door, and dropped her hand. Or tried to.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked.

"Am I?" he asked, only to bend over in sudden pain. Lynda looked down at his back.

"The dress?" she said, politely.

"The dress," Colin wheezed in agreement, and she released his hand. Still slightly hunched, he made his way back to the desk. He picked up the bag and held it out to her, only to pull it back when Lynda reached for it.

"Just to let you know…you remember how we said it was important for you to strike the right note with these guys? Cool, confident, 'here's a woman on her way to the top'?"

"Yes," she said, narrowing her eyes and regarding Colin with deep suspicion.

"Well, I've been thinking. Is that _**really**_the message we want to send to potential investors?" 

"Colin, has anyone ever told you your arguments have the same logical consistency as sticky toffee pudding?" She crossed her arms.

"Thank you," he said. "That means a lot to me, coming from you, Lynda. It really does. I'm touched." He placed a hand over his heart, before frowning. "Now, where was I?"

Lynda took a deep breath in.

"Hear me out," Colin said, sliding the bag behind his back as she made a grab for it. "I know this is going to sound a bit radical, a bit 'wacky'," he made a 'what can you do' face and continued. "The Junior Gazette is young, it's fresh…let's face it, it's funky." He pointed a finger of his free hand for emphasis. "We don't want to go into that meeting with suits and ties and formal contracts! No! We want to show our fun side. Our softer side. Our…sultry side." He raised his eyebrows.

"Colin. Show me. The dress."

"Here you go," he said, bringing the bag around. "Right you are." He reached into the bag, only to stop and raise a warning finger. "But, before you see it, I want you to think 'fun.' It's you, only wilder, more passionate, more—"

"If you don't show me the dress right now, I will bite off your finger," she warned.

"…maneating," he said, voice higher than it had been. "I — I like…um…good visualisation, Lynda."

He slowly pulled out the dress and held it up.

She looked at it.

"Ta—dah," Colin said finally. "Well — what do you think?"

"I'm waiting until I see the rest of it," Lynda said calmly.

"This is the rest of it," he said, breaking eye contact to check the dress.

"That's very funny, Colin," she said, with no expression in her voice.

"It's not a joke," he said.

"Good. Because it wasn't very funny." Her voice started to rise. "Colin, if I wrote down the word 'dress' on a piece of paper and cut it out, it would cover more than that thing!"

"I am hurt." He shook his head in apparent disbelief at Lynda's callousness. "I'll have you know my gran slaved over this for a week."

"I'm not surprised — since it must have taken at least her five days to figure out where the fabric was!"

"I hear what you're saying," he said. "I do. But let's not make any hasty decisions, here." He held up the dress in a placatory way.

"Colin, I am not going to wear a dress with a neckline that dips below my navel!"

"Lynda, would I ask you to compromise your professional integrity like that?" he soothed. "That's the back."

He turned it around.

"Why are there holes at the hips?" she asked.

"Holes?" Colin said, shaking his head incredulously. "No, no, no. These aren't holes. They're…money pockets. See the elastic? Keeps notes safely strapped in. I tested it myself." He looked fondly at the elasticated holes, then tilted his head. "And while we're on the subject — let's say, strictly hypothetically of course, that some men were to place money in the money pockets…for safekeeping. What would you consider a fair division of funds? I'm leaning towards 70/30 myself, purely because," he flicked a hand self deprecatingly, "I did come up with the idea."

Lynda looked at him.

Colin shifted from foot to foot. "I'm sorry," he said, examining the floor. "That was completely inappropriate."

He looked up hopefully. "60/40?"

"Get out!"

"Er, but this is my office," he said, darting a glance around, as if to make sure he was correct.

Without taking her eyes off him, Lynda picked up the snowglobe.

"Now, let's not be hasty," he said, holding up both hands.

She hefted it.

"I'll just be going then," Colin said, hurriedly backing away. The door banged shut, and Lynda set it down.

"Lynda?" Colin's voice was slightly muffled and hesitant. "I'll, ah, I'll just leave the bill on your desk then, shall I?"

The snowglobe shattered with a satisfying crash, and the acid inside began to dissolve the door.

_**3) (…according to N.V. Gillespie, they're next year's Spike and Sarah)**_

The last thing Colin said to them was "Remember kids, play it from the heart." Then he pushed up his sunglasses, clapped his arms around their shoulders, and ushered them through the door.

Lynda had time to mutter to Frazz, "If that stomach flu doesn't kill Julie, I will," before their way was barred by a tall, pretty shop assistant with dark hair. Frazz smiled appreciatively, until Lynda elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm sorry," the assistant said briskly, "no press allowed."

"Excellent!" Colin said. "Excellent! That is exactly what we like to hear. My clients and I will definitely be patronising this establishment." He whipped off his sunglasses, and glanced around the shop appreciatively before attempting to steer past the shop assistant, who was looking at them sceptically.

"And you are?" she asked.

"Matthew Collins, publicist to the stars," Colin said, producing a business card, which he quickly whisked under the shop assistant's nose and replaced in his pocket.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I couldn't make out your name."

"Don't be sorry," Colin reassured her. "It's not your fault. I blame the British school system myself. Disgraceful, I call it."

He nodded to a second shop assistant, who had suddenly appeared.

"All right, then, who are they?" the first assistant asked, arms crossed, jerking her head towards Frazz and Lynda.

Lynda opened her mouth, but Colin held up a hand and said, "No, no, let me handle this. After all, it's what you pay me for. You two wait over there," he gestured to the clothes rails at the left hand side of the shop, "and I'll sort this out." 

The first shop assistant watched them go with a frown, but didn't stop them. She turned back to Colin.

"Well?" she said

"Do you mean to tell me you've never heard of Lynda and Frazz?" he said incredulously.

The second shop assistant, small and blonde, looked interested, but the first one simply said, "No. Who are they?"

"They're….they're Lynda and Frazz! They're like…Bonnie and Clyde, The Lone Ranger and Silver, Silver and gold, pounds and pence—"

"Are they film stars or something?" the small blonde shop assistant ventured. Colin tapped the side of his nose, and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Oh, come off it," the first assistant scoffed. "You don't expect us to believe that."

"What do you mean?" Colin asked.

The shop assistant gestured to Frazz and Lynda, who were pulling clothes off the rails without examining them, and whispering.

"**He** looks like he'd have trouble counting to fifty, and **she** looks like a walking jumble sale," she said.

Colin shook his head pityingly. "Incognito," he said. "I mean, obviously you can't expect them to stroll in here looking like the bigwigs they are. They're in disguise."

"It's very convincing," the first shop assistant said coolly.

"Their names do sound familiar, though," argued the second shop assistant, obviously willing to enter into the spirit of the thing.

The first shop assistant threw up her hands. "All right. Fine. If you want to pretend that **they**" — she turned her head towards Lynda and Frazz, and caught sight of a woman signalling her from the changing rooms. "What is it **this** time?" she muttered, and walked off.

Colin and the other shop assistant watched her go. As she took an orange and green striped dress from the woman, the first shop assistant said hesitantly, "Can I ask you something?"

"For you, anything," Colin said expansively, then hastily qualified, "but I don't do loans." 

"I was just wondering…are they a couple in real life?"

"Are they a coup—" Colin broke off, chuckling in disbelief. "They're more than just a couple. They're this year's Lynda and Spike!"

"Wow," she breathed.

"As N.V. Gillespie says, and I quote, 'They have all the chemistry and passion of Rhett Butler and Ashley Wilkes.'"

"Ashley was a man," said the other shop assistant as she passed by, the striped dress in her hands.

"Right," Colin said, nodding his head. "Of course he was." He turned to the small shop assistant, who giggled obligingly. He cocked his head to the side and examined her thoroughly.

"You know, I think you could really go places," he said. "I don't say this to everyone, but have you thought about representation?" The business card quickly appeared, and just as quickly disappeared.

"Who — me?" she stammered.

"You've got it all," Colin insisted. "Looks, charisma…how do you feel about costumes?"

"I — I don't know," she said.

"All right, I'll get back to you on that one. But the answer to this next question is important. I want you to really think about it."

She nodded her head feverishly.

"Are you allergic," Colin said, watching her carefully, "to duck feathers?"

She blinked.

"Shouldn't you be helping your **clients**?" the first assistant said, now carrying a pair of black trousers and a white skirt with a bow on it.

"If you'll excuse me," Colin said, straightening his jacket.

He picked a polka dotted shirt off the rail to his right, and made his way over to Frazz and Lynda.

Frazz was placing a green jumper on top of the pile of clothes in Lynda's arms and saying, "And don't forget to ask her about the rumours of a knee injury."

Colin placed the shirt on top of this as Frazz continued, "And try and get some details about his off the pitch rivalry with Davidson."

Frazz turned and grabbed another hanger. Lynda stared at the item in Frazz' hand until he finally looked down. Colin tilted his head and regarded the small bikini speculatively. Lynda's eyes narrowed.

"If either of you sends in anything like that, both of you will be doing the obituaries."

"We don't have an obituary section," Colin objected.

"Yet," Lynda said meaningfully.

Frazz replaced the bikini and turned back. "And, if it crops up, you could ask her about the string of affairs he's had."

"Frazz, she's his fiancée."

"Well, if it comes up."

"Frazz — there's something I've wanted to ask you for a long time. Just how often were you dropped on the head as a child?" Lynda said, before turning towards the changing rooms.

Frazz watched her go in silence, then picked a blue minidress off the rails and made his way over to the second shop assistant.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you got this in cerise?"

_**4) (In the wedding of life, Kenny is **__**always**__** the bridesmaid)**_

"Are you ready?" Kenny asks her.

Lynda frowns. "I can't possibly approve this issue. It's all wrong." She looks at the paper in her hands.

Kenny shakes his head, and exchanges a glance with Sarah. "But that's not really your problem any more, is it?" Sarah says reasonably.

"What d'you mean, it's not my problem?" Lynda asks, confused and irritated.

"Well, don't you think there's something more important you should be thinking about?" she says.

"Like what?"

"D'you like it?" Colin asks, appearing out of nowhere, and slipping an arm around her shoulder. "I want you to be our spokesperson. 'Mathews Wedding Dresses: if it ain't White, it ain't Right!'"

"Colin, what are you talking about?" Then, slowly, and apprehensively, she looks down.

She's wearing an enormous wedding dress. It's easily three times too big for her.

"This isn't happening," she says slowly. Calmly. She takes deep breaths in and out.

"Oh, Lynda, I nearly forgot," Colin says, snapping his fingers. "You'll need this." 

He hands her a bundle. Stupidly, she takes it in her arms, only to discover —

"Colin, it's a baby!"

"You get one half price with every purchase," Colin agrees. "Oochy—coo. Who's a good little money maker, then?"

"I don't want it!" Lynda says, her voice rising. Then — this has to get through to Colin. "I'm not paying for it!"

"Cash on delivery, you said?" another voice chimes in, and Spike leans over her shoulder and passes a roll of bills to Colin. He's wearing a suit, and there's lipstick on his shirt collar.

"Much obliged," Colin says, tucking the money away. "Oh, did I mention, it's part of a set. I've left the other one at your place," he nods at Lynda.

"Can you believe it, boss? Two for the price of one! That's a really great deal."

"You're telling me," Julie says, climbing out from under Lynda's desk. "I've been saving up for ages, and I've only got enough for a hamster." She sprawls in Lynda's chair, then frowns at Kenny. "What's he doing here?"

"Bridesmaid," Kenny explains.

Julie's mouth falls open. "I don't believe this!" she says to Lynda. "I mean, you already think he's a better deputy editor than me…now he gets to be bridesmaid as well?!"

"I don't want this," Lynda says again, brandishing the baby at Colin. "Take it back!" It starts to cry.

"Sorry, no refunds," he shakes his head. "Company policy."

"Shouldn't you do something about that?" Spike asks, as the baby gets louder.

"What am **I** supposed to do?" she asks.

"Don't worry, you'll figure it out. That's why I got it. Something to keep you occupied, since you'll be leaving the paper."

"What?!" Lynda says. "Spike—"

Something catches her eye and she looks down at her dress in horror.

"Colin, it's getting bigger!"

As she watches, the skirt of the dress spreads even further, swallowing more and more of the floor.

"Design feature!" Colin says proudly.

"I can't do this," she says.

"Well, you can't back out now," Julie tells her, and holds up a copy of the Junior Gazette. "The wedding issue's already gone to press."

"Wedding issue?" Lynda repeats.

Spike drapes an arm over her shoulder. "It's the next logical step, Boss. Didn't you study Sarah's charts?" He shakes his head. "Are you ready yet? I hate to rush you, but I've got a hot date after the ceremony, and I don't want to miss it."

There's a knock from behind the toilet door, and Mr. Sullivan walks out, holding a paper. Lynda is annoyed to realise that it's not the Junior Gazette.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" she snaps.

Mr Sullivan just raises his eyebrows at her before turning to Sarah. "Finally, I get to give her away," he says in a hushed and reverent tone. "After seven years I finally get to give her away. I've dreamed of this day for so long…"

Lynda stares at him. "All right. That's it," she says, and shrugs off Spike's arm.

"Kenny?" she says, and looks down at her skirt, which he obligingly holds for her as she climbs onto a chair. "Let's get something clear. **This** is not happening. I'm not doing it. It's over. It's finished. It's done. Everyone got that?"

"It's over?" Spike asks, and his voice is serious.

She scrambles off the chair. "Spike — I…"

"Lynda," Julie interrupts. "There's a problem with the printers. They've printed the paper backwards."

"What?!" Lynda says. No one is close enough, so she throws the baby over her shoulder. This is important. She rushes over to the desk. "Get out of my chair!"

The next thing she knows, it's dark, and she thinks she's alone in the newsroom until she hears a voice say — "This the way it's gotta be, boss?"

Spike's standing in shadow at the newsroom doors. She looks at him for a long time. She can't see his eyes.

"Yes," she says finally. "This is how it has to be."

She bends down and starts marking the paper in front of her with thick, black lines. When she looks up again, he's gone.

_**5) (Starring Spike Thomson as shark bait)**_

"You know, this is a new low, even for you, Lynda," Spike said, leaning against the wall. "It's like you've set the bar for 'low', and now you're limbo—ing under it."

"I was just afraid I wouldn't have time to look over your research for the MKM story." Lynda's voice was innocent. Spike aimed a disbelieving look at the changing room door.

"Right. So logically, you brought me down here to watch you try on clothes."

"Not clothes. A dress. For my date."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Sarah helped me pick it out—"

"The blonde leading the colour blind," Spike muttered.

"And I just want to make sure I made the right choice."

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's got nothing to do with your insane need to win me back."

"Of course not! It's completely in the spirit of our agreement — I've brought you to a place where you have an excuse to stare at half dressed women."

"Since when have I ever needed an excuse?" Spike asked, smiling and standing back as a girl brushed past, arms full of clothes.

The door opened, and Spike blinked.

"Well?" she asked.

"Lynda…I can't believe it."

"What?"

"You're…coordinating. People said it was bound to happen one of these days, but I had no idea…Hey, you think it's raining fish outside?"

"Very funny. What do you think?"

"Your shoulders…" he blurted out.

"What about them?"

"They're ah—they're there. That's all." He shook his head briskly.

"Mmm. I have found they come in useful, on occasion," Lynda said, with a distinct note of satisfaction in her voice. "By the way, I think you should take a closer look at MKM's sister company." She handed Spike the folder containing his notes.

"I'll do that," he said, and opened the folder.

"Really though, what do you think?"

"It's…nice," he said, glancing up quickly, before returning to his notes. "It's…very nice." He looked up again.

There was a touch of smugness about her smile, and Spike continued. "I mean, I don't know about the…" he began to gesture at the shimmering material at her chest before thinking better of it, and gesturing at his own instead.

"Oh — that's for Colin. He likes shiny things."

"Lynda…"

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.

"No. Come on. What is it?"

Spike leaned a little closer. "Seriously…Colin?"

"What's wrong with Colin?" she asked.

"I'd tell you, but the shop closes in another two hours," he said, checking his watch.

"You don't approve?" she asked, sounding triumphant.

"I don't **believe**," Spike clarified. "There's a difference."

"What's so unbelievable about it? I'm a woman, he's…Colin…"

"Yeah, that's real convincing, Lynda."

"For your information, he treats me like…money!" Lynda said. "And he's very…I mean he's…I like his…well, after you, I'm used to disappointment," she finished, with a poisonous look.

"I hope you are. Cause you know he's not going to show tonight."

"He'll show," she said, definite.

"I hope you're right, boss. I really do. I mean, I'm rooting for you two crazy kids…but nearly everyone else in the newsroom has put a bet on Colin faking his own death to get out of this date."

"Well, they're wrong," she said. "And I want oysters." She stepped back into the changing room and closed the door.

"Your wish," Spike said, spreading his arms wide.

"And…make yourself scarce between courses, won't you, Spike? Nothing personal, but Colin might be a bit nervous about showing his affection."

"In that case, wouldn't it be better if **you** disappeared between courses?" he asked.

There was a silence.

"Lynda?" he asked. "Hello?" He knocked. "You get lost in there?"

"Spike — could you come in here for a minute?"

"What?" he took a big step backwards.

"It's just…I'm having trouble unzipping. I think it's stuck."

"No way, Lynda! I am not helping you remove your clothes!" Spike held up his hands, as if to stop an oncoming truck.

"Tell me Spike, the rain outside — is it blood, or toads?" she said.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I! The zip is stuck."

"Then I'll just ask one of the salesgirls to help," he argued.

"Oh, all right. If you're worried you can't control yourself."

"I can control myself just fine," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Then prove it," came the challenge.

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

"Really? Because you said we could both be stranded on a tropical desert island, completely naked and with a fully stocked drinks cabinet, and you'd prefer to take your chances with a shark before you'd touch me."

"And that still stands!" Spike said. "For one thing, I'm sure sharks have fewer teeth!" 

"Just like our relationship, Thomson. Turns out you're all talk." Her voice was pitying.

Spike clenched his fists. "All right, I'm coming in there!" he warned. He barged through the door, tossed the folder on the bench next to the mirror, and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Okay. So where's this zip then?"

Lynda tilted her head at him. "At the back," she said, without sarcasm.

"Okay. So turn around."

She did.

"Hey — it really is stuck," he said in surprise.

"What did you expect?" she asked. Then, after a pause, "You know, Colin doesn't need any excuse to unzip me."

"Of course he doesn't. Why would he need an excuse if you're never going to ask him?"

He concentrated. "Stand still. I think I've got it." He slowly pulled the zip up to the top, and then down an inch.

He stopped.

"Great," Lynda said. "Well…I could probably take it from here."

"Yeah," he said, staring at her back. He didn't move.

"Spike?" 

He lowered the zip down further. He swallowed, then reached out a finger and ran it slowly down her spine.

"Spike—" she said again.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and they both jumped.

"I'm sorry," a voice called. "But we don't allow more than one person at a time in a changing room."

Spike took a hasty step back and banged into the wall. They stared at each other.

"I — I gotta go," he said, and pushed the door open.

"Spike!" she called, but he kept walking. "Spike!"

She sighed, then looked down at the dress. "Credit card all right?" she asked the shop assistant.


End file.
